The Conquest of Helghan
by RecklessRedcoat
Summary: Desperate times call for desperate measures. The Helghast are at the brink of Extinction. Now with Mael Radec leading the Helghan Empire, they are forced to abandon Vekta, setting sail for new worlds to conquer and inhabit, the unfortunate target in their sights, is the war-torn killzone, designated Sera. Now a war for survival erupts, in the wake of the Helghast conquest. AU
1. Mortal Combat

**My first attempt at a crossover. Massive fan of Killzone even though I only know snippets of the basic storyline, so PLEASE no hating. But as always, constructive comments and criticisms welcome, lads and lasses.**

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Marcus gazed around the cover amidst the apparent warzone, the only audience as the rattle of gunfire and the barking of chatter, COG and Locust and even the new enemy. The grips on his boots crunched on the heap of brickwork of the devastated household, its walls blasted with cannon fire, leaving an ugly hole in the wall and creating a small mountain of debris. The enemy charged towards the COG lines in the middle of this tight city fire fight. The heat of the Seran summer was stifling, and even Marcus had to wipe his brow every now and then to swipe the sweat. He heard the muffled shouts and cries of the helmeted hostiles, getting closer with each second. These hardy bastards appeared from space, faring in ginormous cruisers and space vessels of their own awesome and sinister design, clad in bulky grey armour and just might as well have 'bad guy' stamped on each helmet. Speaking of which, one appeared around the corner, evidently hunting for cover, or some kind of vantage point. He was a basic infantry, designated Assault Infantry in their terms, the baleful glow of his orange eyes snapping to the sight of Marcus hugging the wall, detecting the gear instantly.

They stared into each other's eyes for seconds, before the Helghast trooper even registered the COG he was facing was the sole reason his nation had invaded Sera: He lifted his gun with a snarl, the bulky SMG centred directly on his forehead, Marcus's soldier brain kicked into action as Marcus slapped the gun to the ground with a crash as the Helghast squeezed a few rounds, narrowly missing Marcus's ear. The bark of the rifle caused an obscene whining in Fenix's head, as he clutched his left ear with a displeasured grunt. Shaking his head in enough time, he viciously gripped his Lancer and prepared to blast the Helghast inside out. Much to his dismay, the trooper responded with a sharp haymaker to his face, scrambling his vision, and causing his grip to weaken as he felt strong hands tear the Lancer from his hands. He didn't need his vision, nor his hearing to know the Helghast had thrown his rifle quite a ways.

His vision cleared in record time to see the Helghast swing another vicious punch, though, despite the scary accuracy of the punch, and the impact of the first, Marcus avoided it easily, snaring the trooper in a wrist lock and earning a roar of defiance. Before he could draw his soldier's knife from his boot, the Helghast unexpectedly swung his head at Fenix like a rabid dog, smashing the forehead of his sturdy helmet into the bridge of his nose. Marcus cried as blood welled from his nostrils, as the Helghast head-butted once more, and again, the final and third butt rewarding the trooper with a wet snap of Marcus's nose.

Fenix's grip released on the trooper's wrist, his arms going limp by his side and instinctively reaching for his ruined nose. He couldn't notice, nor did he expect the air to be forced from his lungs as the Helghast delivered a crushing kick to his chest, the heavy boot crunching into the metal breastplate and flinging him chest first onto the rubble like a ragdoll. The brickwork cut into his exposed arms, as he heard the sheen of the trooper drawing a wicked combat knife of his own. He slowly walked over to the crawling Marcus, his helmet-filtered breathing heavy and obnoxious with determination and adrenaline.

Marcus wheezed and coughed, as he futilely crawled from the Helghast towards the bottom of the mound of rubble, when his hand gripped something familiar, a handle; a Lancer handle to be precise, the rifle body hidden beneath a crude sheet of brickwork. Marcus knew this was the only opportunity and turned his head over his shoulder, only for his body to be pressed down by the Helghast's boot, pressing his face into and filling his mouth with brick dust. Marcus roared in battle rage as the soldier spoke in a callous voice, as he flipped the knife into a reverse grip.

"I want you to face me, so I can look into your eyes as I see you die, human. But I hope you realise, if it's any consolation, this is nothing personal." He growled, although sincere about the fact he wasn't making this a personal folly, his aim was clear; his left hand grasping Fenix's shoulder and flipping him over, of course, making him the biggest mistake he will ever make. In the time it took for the soldier to speak his mind to Fenix and spin him round, Marcus had already fixed his grip on the handle of the chainsaw motor. Upon being spun, Fenix yanked the lever as hard as he could muster, before placing a death grip on the pistol grip, the chainsaw roaring into life. As he spun, he put all his remaining strength into his right arm, swinging it like a sword and ripping the saw through the brickwork in a shower of obliterated dust and debris in a wide horizontal arc.

The shower of blanched dust highlighted the ash uniform of the Helghast, the chainsaw scathing the surface of his stomach, but it was enough, even for a glancing hit. The air filling with the sounds of a dying motor and the angry yet petrified scream of the Helghan trooper. Marcus opened his eyes to see the trooper scream in his filtered, echoing voice though his helmet, as his hands grasped at his abdomen, now bleeding profusely, and Marcus swore he could see the faintest sight of entrails on show; a grievous injury. In his fit of agony, his combat knife slipped from his grip, like the handle was slickened in butter.

It pierced a brick by Marcus's foot, as the Helghast stumbled, his roars now becoming wails and moan in pain. He gripped his now spilling intestines with brutally shaking hands as he stared up at the human, who was now steadily rising to his feet, albeit with grunts of discomfort. Immediately, Fenix ripped the knife from the resting place of the brick, and charged the Helghast with all his might, slamming his shoulders and wrapping his arms around the soldier by his waist and effectively rugby tackling him to the hard bricks on the floor behind him. The Helghan wheezed in agony from the impact, Fenix felt the tough under cloth of his abdomen armour beginning to get wet with the blood and entrails of his foe beneath him. Marcus brought the trooper's knife up, ready to stab. As he did so, the Trooper shot up his left arm to intercept Fenix, his slackening yet strong grip locking around Fenix's right wrist, clinging to any hope he could overpower and kill the human before his injury claimed him. Marcus always admired the Helghast and their strength and undying will, but he needed to finish this. It was him or the Helghan.

"Nothing personal." Marcus retorted to the Helghan, and he could see the horror through the hateful eyes of his helmet, as Marcus braced, and slammed his already cut head into the Helghast's own. Marcus growled as he felt more blood begin to run down his face, the trooper grunted, and his grip weakened from the impact slightly, but it was enough, his elbow kinked, and his grip was loosened; his arm could now be manipulated against him. Marcus pressed all his might into his arm, and the knife was almost plunged deep into the centre of the Helghan's collarbone by his own hand, his fingers still determined and locked around Marcus's wrist, blood pooled from his chest as the pipe of his respirator was severed, hissing with compressed gas that was now frantically escaping, the pipe flaying around in a spasm.

The trooper gurgled sickeningly through his helmet, his left hand weak, leaving the offending wrist to scratch at Fenix, who still gripped the knife embedded in his flesh. The Helghast mewled and continued to try and grasp Fenix, only lightly gripping the collar of his armour, before Marcus applied final weight to the knife, pushing it in to the hilt, and twisting the serrated blade viciously several times. The Helghan's struggling became more futile, and before long, he sounded like he was weeping, genuinely crying. He spoke once again, not hateful, not afraid, but distraught, like he had done something terribly wrong.

"All I wanted to do…was to…to…see my wife Ursula again. We had to escape…Vekta…oh God. I'm sorry…m-my wife…" Marcus sighed heavily at the soldier's solemn final words.

"They'll know you died fighting for your nation." He hushed, trying to sympathise with the enemy. The Helghast hiccupped, and Fenix heard the faint splattering of blood inside the soldier's helmet. The trooper locked eyes with Marcus, before nodding in defeat.

"Thank you. Nothing personal…you're an…honourable soul…you'd have been a fine…" He hacked viciously, Marcus felt the warm blood swimming around the underside of his fist. "Helghast…" He gave out a deep sigh, his arm ceased to move, his body giving one final jolt, before it too went slack, his death throes water-logged with blood in his throat. Before long, the only sound Marcus could hear again was his rumbling breath and the warfare outside in the city, as the Helghan's arm went limp, dropping bodily onto the brickwork.

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"Ah…shit." Marcus grumbled in fatigue, as he raised himself to a seating position, straddling the dead Helghast. He rubbed the dirt from his eyes, only to inhale sharply through clenched teeth as his hand made contact with his split nose. He grimaced at the pain, but he shuddered even more at the dead Helghast in-between his knees. It was never easy killing a person. Shooting a soldier and killing him instantly is one thing; fast, no grasp of his feelings as he goes out like a light. It's just the sudden weight that you've taken a life just like that. But locking in a melee like that, where it was a matter of life and death, where every last decent thing gets thrown out of the window and all rules are discarded, and where every last breath is a potential advantage. Every grab-able item was a potential weapon or shield. But most importantly, the emotion is shown, the battle rage, the hatred, the instinct to survive. And the fearful desperation, like this Helghast.

Killing a Locust when face to face with one of the bastards was entirely different. These monsters had no emotion, nothing to fight for other than their queen, no individual motives. Just a faceless grunt with one drive=to entirely slaughter his foe. Locust and Helghast are both enemies, but the Locust are pure evil in the cruellest, callous monsters. But this Helghast was different, maybe all the Helghast were different.

Marcus saw him try to clutch to the very edge, fighting for any sign of hope even as the elongated blade bit into his chest, puncturing the centre of mass. Even when death stared him in the face, he'd still fight it. Then the confusion. The opponent baffled by why he feels so cold, on where he went wrong as he sees the area of numbness go red with gore. Was this this soldier's punishment? He resented himself, self-hatred for failure, then the inevitable death. This Helghast was no callous monster. He had a wife; a family; a life. He was partaking in the Helghast invasion to make his family proud, and he died fighting, the maelstrom of emotions finalized with final peace that he will be remembered among the thousands of 'fallen heroes'. That is why it is harder killing someone, a human, a Helghast, in any kind of combat, it took a heavy toll on Marcus during the Pendulum Wars, but now, it was becoming too much for him. He had no doubt in his mind that this Helghast would be wrestling with these thoughts had it been him who came out on top. The revelation of this unsettled him.

Marcus's ear bead crackled into life, mostly static, but the frenzied voice just plain stated this was an SOS. Gingerly, Marcus touched the sensitive com in his right ear with his two fingers, listening intently, eyes narrowed as his stoic face tried to register the call out for help.

" , rep—t, this is , requ—ting immediate ai-! Helghast ambush, too many. We're cut of-ther squads, REPEAT DO-SEND MORE SQUADS OUR DIR—ION!" The SOS finished with a ear-shredding warble of static, making Marcus grumble unpleasantly and shut off his earpiece, these gears were crying out for help and he was the only liable gear close enough to respond. Delta had to wait; no gear gets left behind. Marcus grasped his Lancer, and began to steadily rise, cautious to avoid putting extra strain on his injuries.

The ambience of battle seemed to clear, as he pressed himself back into the brickwork he originally hid around. Risking a gaze around a corner, he only could just make out a few final Helghast infantrymen disappear around the corner, away from him. Silently thanking God, Marcus took off into the sun-brightened streets, as he began a steady pace towards the squad of gears. Despite the fact that was all his mind focussed on at the present time, Marcus couldn't help but have his mind's eyes wander to the body of the young Helghast soldier, dead and forgotten…

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**This chapter was a bit of a ball-ache, seeing as I was improvising the entire time. If I receive the motivation, I will continue this story. it's kinda been on the backburner for a while now. Rate, review and enjoy!**

**Chp.2 - Sniper Alley (Hopefully) Coming Soon.**

**RecklessRedcoat, over and out.**


	2. Sniper Alley

**Sorry for the delay peeps. Coursework and other duties coming out of my ass here. Anyways, here's chapter 2. Enjoy!**

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His boots crashed like thunder on the tarmac, his breaths ragged and tired. The blood rumbled in his ears as Marcus put all spare energy into his powerful leg muscles. He gave angry growls as the tittering of gunfire and screams became more obvious.

"Come on, come on, come on." He whispered to himself harshly like a mantra, spurring him onward into the blazing sun. So far he encountered zero Helghast or Locust, and he sure as hell was hoping he wouldn't have a chance encounter anytime soon. Not until he rendezvoused with this stranded squad. He rounded a sharp corner and gave a sigh of relief as he saw the backs of what seemed to be five gears, all hugging cover in a devastated shop whilst taking quick, careless blind shots at an unseen enemy in the streets below, presumably the Helghast. His mission still clear and in sight, Marcus broke into a quick jog, pacing through the back of the ravaged shop and drawing the attention of a particular gear, making the squad an actual six in number, who was at a point of elevation, on the upper floor of the shop, after Marcus came just under an inch away from, burst out into hearty laughter, his voice making him a Kashkuri, just like Sam Byrne.

"Well, aren't you a site for sore eyes, huh Fenix?" He greeted, flinching slightly as a bullet chipped the brickwork to the right of his head, Marcus did so too, immediately grabbing cover to the left of the gear.

"And you are?" Marcus replied, not curtly or blunt, but firm and to the point. The helmeted soldier chuckled humorously.

"Sergeant Isaac Grey, Charlie team. Got split up after an e-hole sprouted in the middle of our formation, 2 gears fell in, the rest of us broke off." He gestured with his hand, Marcus's icy eyes following every movement made by the helmeted sergeant. "Luckily for us though," He began with a chuckle, gesturing with his head to the streets outside. "Helga showed up, plugged the hole but kicked every grub that came out, back in before they chucked the grenade." Marcus solemnly nodded his head before jerking his head back the way he came.

"I came here to bust you guys out. Seems you're in the shit." Grey laughed at his response which kind of unsettled and even slightly annoyed Marcus.

"Isn't that sweet of you, mate? Either way, we're pinned. We aren't going nowhere. Just us 6. Well, 7 now; including you." Marcus grumbled through gritted teeth, having the epiphany of the torrents of vicious gunfire locking the squad down in this shop. Grey whistled lowly.

"Damn Marcus, what happened to you? Got into a fistfight with a Corpser?" He muttered, grimacing at Marcus's bruised face and the glistening blood around his split nose. Fenix grunted, unsure whether to take it as a joke or pure concern. He decided to go with a bit of both.

"Helga wanted to share some cover with me. It got ugly…" Fenix slurred lowly, taken aback to the image of the body of the young Helghast trooper he killed only 10 minutes ago, his own knife buried in his broken chest. Grey nodded his head, but before he could ask any more questions both Marcus and Grey heard the caws of another gear on the bottom floor a metre below, who amidst the fire fight, was pretty loud for his age, he sounded around 19.

"Sergeant! Assault Infantry spotted, they're advancing, THEY'RE COMI—" A hail of heavy machine gun fire ripped into the gear, the thudding of the Helghast's StA-52 was rewarded by the sound of shredded flesh and the almost ultrasonic death throes of the gear as he collapsed to the ground, his body marred with steaming holes; 6 gears left now.

"Oh, for fuck's sakes…" Grey silently swore in disdain, as he cranked the cocking mechanism on his Mk.1 Lancer and causing the nearly empty magazine to crash to the floor with a clatter, before slamming in a fresh one. The sword-like bayonet glinting in the light with its eerie cleanliness. The rest of the gears trained their guns on the ugly opening in the shops wall, forgetting about the still convulsing corpse of the young gear laid by said opening. They waited for what seemed like eternity, even though he was above most of them, Marcus swore he could hear one chewing bubble gum due to the eerie silence. Grey however, noticed something wrong, and began to gaze around the lower floor. Marcus eyed him curiously, unsure what to make of it.

Grey touched the earpiece inside his helmet, and whispered hoarsely.

"Mikes? Mikes, do you copy? Mikes?" Now Marcus began to look around for the gear named Mikes, who was clearly nowhere in sight. Isaac's arm dropped, and almost roared to the remainder of the squad.

"Has anyone seen Mikes?! He can't have just vanished." The squad grunting at the sergeant's question, and chatter began to rise.

"Oh fuck…what if-"

"-Helghast may have nabbed him-"

"Mikes? MIKES?"

"Goddamn Assault Infantry-"

"-fucking dead, Mikes is gone!"

Confused Isaac rubbed the brow of his helmet. A strange clicking noise could be heard, and Grey narrowed his eyes trying to pinpoint it. He slammed his palm on the wall, catching the squad's attention.

"Alright SHUT IT!" He howled simultaneously, the squad's heads turning in unison towards the opening in the wall, the origin of the clicking. Grey couldn't help himself but whisper as loudly as he could. "Mikes? Is that you, mate?" The reply he got was extremely unexpected and horrifying, a quietened voice, presumably from outside hollered,

"Get in there, Seran scum!" The male voice deep, and followed by a dull thud, with a grunt, presuming some kind of impact against someone. The clicking got louder, and through the wall came a gear, stumbling through the wall. Grey's eyes widened in shock.

"Mikes!" He exclaimed, as the gear screamed and frenziedly scratched for his back, his voice frantic and high-pitched with panic.

"GET IT OFF ME! GET IT THE FUCK OFF ME!" Marcus only began to notice he was the source of the clicking, his back tagged with a Helghast-issue Limpet Grenade, his rambling screams for help were ones of pure terror. The matt black orb was glowing a hateful amber, and the clicking became a loud beep as Mikes screamed in perpetual fright.

"GRENADE!" Fenix cried, effectively kicking the leg muscles of the squad and causing them to jump back as the grenade, and Mikes exploded in a shower of red. Blood splattered on the walls, as Mikes was reduced to nothing more than a puddle of mangled and fragged meat. The gears were discombobulated from the blast, the closest to Mikes was mumbling and yelping incoherent babbles, shell-shocked by the blast as the front of his blue armour was caked with the dripping viscera and gore of Mikes, his gun was discarded on the floor, his hands locked firmly around the fleshy pulp of Mikes' arm, hand still twitching and grasping. The squad was standing slowly with grunts and moans of discomfort, and were unready for the unified roars of the seething Helghast troops pouring into the shop, raising knives and guns as they prepared to enter a brutal melee.

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The disorientated gear died first, his helmeted gaze slowly looking up from the remains of Mikes to have a Helghast trooper, presumably the leader of this Assault squad, place a palm on his face, the other hand gripping the back of his head. The Helghast jerked his wrists and with a sound like a broken tree stump, the gear's neck was snapped, head sharply twisted to the left. His arms went limp, dropping the severed arm as his body convulsed with spasms. The Helghast grunted with carelessness as he used the palm on the gear's face to forcefully shove the dead COG to the ground, like a broken and forgotten ragdoll, reducing the team's numbers to a dangerously low 4, excluding Marcus and Grey.

"Advance! Get nose to nose with them!" The Helghast leader barked to his comrades, but before he could attack the closest gear to achieve another successful kill, he was laid low by Grey's Mk.1 Lancer, the retro rifle spraying him with a shower of lead. The Helghast's insides were riddled with slugs, as his back exploded through the grey vest he wore. He howled in agony as he collapsed to the floor and didn't move again.

"NOT YOUR GAME, MOTHERFUCKER!" Grey taunted, as the small squad of Helghast Assault Infantry poured in, turning the inside shop into a dangerous close-quarter fight, lighting the interior with flashes of ballistic gunfire from both sides. By now the other 3 COG soldiers, Renn, Truce and Cavine, had recovered and fought back harshly, the first two squeezed off a few rounds from their Mk.2 Lancers, tripping a few Helghast as the bullets tore them down like old wrapping paper with tiny spurts of red. Cavine's Hammerburst spoke thunder, the heavy bolts hammering into the head of a peaking Helghast, the trooper rolling belly-up out of cover, his head ruined with a large bloodied hole. His closest comrade learned from the lethal mistake and ducked down beneath the wall, the screaming bolts narrowly missing his scalp.

A Helghast spun on his heel out of cover, the whirring of his StA-409 Keyzer as grim as the reaper itself. Cavine watched in horror as an angry storm of rail rounds shredded through Truce as he peered out of cover to gun down another Helghast. The rounds exploding through his back as bone and bullet fragments tumbled some distance away. The helmetless gear's face twisting into a mask of agony as he collapsed, his body a myriad of blood, gore and steaming punctures. Cavine roared with ambitious rage, the younger, less-experienced gear got complacent and stepped out of cover, shots wild, unpredictable and missing most Helghast, albeit, shredding the throat of Truce's killer, the Helghast collapsing to the ground as his head rolled from the little flesh that remained from the ballistic shots. His gung-ho behaviour was drawing the attention of a charging Helghast, who left cover, considering to get a better vantage point, but settled for a chance of an up-close kill. Predicting the messy shots of this gear, the Helghast dove to the ground, Cavine's hammering bolts unexpectedly crushing his StA-52 into a shower of sparks and broken metal, and rendering him weapon less. Cursing and also seizing the opportunity, he grasped Truce's fallen Mk.2 Lancer, and dangerously closed the distance with the offending gear in an inconceivably fast bound.

It happened too fast for anyone to save him. The Helghast pulled the chainsaw motor on his stolen Lancer and hacked into the gear, the roaring saw bayonet wedging itself into the soft flesh of Cavine's right shoulder. The gear screamed in fright and torture, the Helghast used his strong muscles and screamed with conviction, tearing the lancer completely downwards diagonally until it carved through the gear's left hip, splitting Cavine perfectly in half in a messy curtain of viscera. Renn screamed in anger and despair at the sight before him, frozen in place, calling out Cavine's name to his stiff bisected torso, or what remained of it. Blood painted the Helghast and the floor, who was blinded by the satisfaction and battle rage. The final gear, called Stubbs, drew his Gnasher shotgun, firing a ballistic hip shot at the chain sawing Helghast.

The rifle dropped faster than the Helghast was knocked back, the wall of buckshot impacting the Helghan trooper and flinging him backwards. Blood jetted from the Helghast like a wall of translucent red as he crashed into the cover his comrades hid behind. Bleeding profusely, the Helghast succumbed instantly with a moan. Stubbs fired in rapid succession, cracking the handle to pump in another shell after crippling a Helghast, the shell shredding the side of his right leg below the knee, who immediately limped to cover after bellowing his colourful hatred to the COG. Behind him, a Helghast rounded the corner doorway with his serrated knife, attempting to lethally surprise the gear. Jumping in a small predatory leap, Stubbs heard his moves from a long shot, and wheeled around, firing a devastating point-blank spread to the Helghast. Half the spread came into contact with the right arm that grasped the knife, shredding off the limb in a flash of arterial red. Simultaneously, the other half hit the whole right side of his torso, blasting flecks of meat from the grey uniform whilst putting a spin on the flying corpse, as it crashed bodily to the ground without a scream; instant death.

"Oh yeah," Stubbs began, pumping the shotgun in a prestigious manner. "Don't fuck with the COG." He taunted, as he sprinted to join the fight with his other gears.

Marcus was still on the higher floor with Grey, choking the doorways and broken walls and hills of rubble with the dead of any reinforcing Helghast. Grey laughed cruelly as the powerful slugs of the retro annihilated the head of an unlucky trooper that drew a clear line of sight to Grey, blasting the helmeted head to a shower of bone and brain matter. The body stiffened and reached for a head that no longer existed before crumpling to the ground, the neck painting the floor with a dark crimson. He turned his head to find a Helghast round a doorway, wrapping his strong left forearm around the neck and taking the Stubbs as a shield. His colourful grunts of protest drew the attention of Renn after he gunned down the trooper Stubbs had previously injured, sapping his attention away from the Helghast he was currently facing. He took aim, but the Helghast shifted position, putting his new shield in the line of fire.

"Ah! Woahwoahwoahwoahwoah! Don't shoot man!" Stubbs pleaded, Renn gasping in shock, his aim faltering.

"Yes. That's a good boy. Shoot and he dies first. Liking my new meat shield though." The Helghast said with a derisive grunt. Grey growled from above, putting a death grip on his rifle body.

"Oh no you fucking don't." He mumbled to himself, breaking into a sprint over the ledge of the upper floor. He landed with a grunt but continued his charge towards the Helghast. The gas-mask wearing soldier only noticed Grey when it was too late. In the space it took for the Helghast to turn to face and react, Grey impaled the bayonet into the Helghast, driving the large knife into the trooper's belly. The Helghast screamed with agony, as with a grunt, Grey hoisted the Helghast off of his feet. Blood ran like a waterfall from the Helghast's gut, showering Grey with red as he pumped his arms like a piston, the trooper sinking further onto the bayonet and slicing through the lower ribcage and sternum and gurgled as he finally went limp. Grey roared and slung his arms downward, the trooper sliding off his bayonet with a sickening noise, leaving the limp body to ink the floor scarlet.

During the bayonetting sequence, Renn felt strong hands try to restrain him from behind. Reacting fast, he jabbed the butt end of his rifle behind him into the gut of the grappling Helghast, who released him instantly with a wheeze, grasping his stomach for air. Yanking the chainsaw handle on his Mk.2 lancer, he turned and swung his rifle upwards like a golf club, catching the Helghast in the jaw with the lethal uppercut. The swing devastated the lower part of his mouth, shearing the jaw in a spray of gore, the chainsaw carried its instant ascent, splitting the head clean in half like an ugly cut in paper.

The trooper stood idle for seconds, but was cast aside by his brethren, attempting to butcher the chainsaw wielding COG. The gear anticipated this and swung his Lancer horizontally, the impossibly fast teeth nicking the throat of the first Helghast. From any angle, no matter how close or how far, the chainsaw would have looked like a lucky miss or a glancing hit at worst. The reality was far more gruesome; the chainsaw tore a neat crescent through the thick neck brace of the Helghast, and his sprint became an immediate halt. Blood jetted onto the gear's armour, and the trooper dropped his assault rifle, hands shooting to his neck, futilely attempting to patch the rip in his throat.

He made some disgusting guttural growls before collapsing to the ground, wallowing left and right with blood-logged cries as the serrated wound took its inevitable toll. Only one left now. The final Helghast saw his comrade and growled, casting his rifle aside and cutting his combat knife through the sheath in a frenzy.

"MOTHER FUCKER!" He roared, charging the ready gear. Anger was an extreme liability and weakness, and this gear was about to prove it to the Helghast that this was the mistake that had cost him his life. A split second before the Helghast would have stabbed his knife through the gear's skull, severing his brain in half and causing instant death, he raised his Lancer like a barrier, keeping the rifle body close to him. It was as suicide as running into a wall of blades. And the Helghast screamed as his body armour came into contact with the whirring teeth.

His arms became a series of spasms, the limbs flailing in desperation as Renn lost all control, pulling his arms down to repeat what the previous Helghast did to Cavine. The Helghast screamed just like him too, as Renn changed his course of cutting, choosing to slice the legs from the Helghast's torso. His legs went slack and crumpled into a messy pile like a slacking rope, and his torso plummeted like an anvil. The Helghast was still alive, oddly. The helmet and goggles however couldn't mask the unbelievable pain and fright the Helghast was experiencing. Renn had done this for a reason. He gripped the Lancer, and began to stumble slowly towards the dying Helghast. The torso began to crawl backwards, his wound squirting out and oozing a sticky trail of dark wine crimson in his wake.

Another Helghast rounded the corner with a snarl, but was immediately cut down as Marcus burst a few rounds into the Helghast, the infantryman dropping like a pile of bricks with a wheezing grunt.

"N-no…please. No more. Agh…no more…" The trooper begged over and over again, sounding like he was choking on his own blood, his head making contact with a wall, pinning him in place at an inevitable halt. All he could do was shakily raise his arm in protest. Renn continued his merciless march, paying no mind to the still twitching Helghast on the floor as his boot crushed the wrist. Renn stood over the helpless, mutilated Helghast and aimed the Lancer muzzle at the trooper's face. He tried to mutter a word, but Renn fired relentlessly. At this range, nothing stopped the Lancer shells from destroying the Helghast's head, his bisected torso going limp, yet Renn carried on firing, riddling the corpse with bullets and turning it into a pin cushion. Blood fountained from the torso as Renn proceeded to empty the Lancer's deep magazine on the corpse.

"Renn. That's enough." Grey warned, the words falling upon deaf ears as Renn continued to slaughter the carcass. "Renn." Grey repeated. After 4 times however, enough was enough. Especially when the hollow click of an empty Lancer magazine was followed by Renn releasing it to the ground with a clatter, slamming in a fresh magazine and taking aim.

"RENN! HE'S DEAD! QUIT WASTING AMMO DIPSHIT!" Grey exclaimed, Renn's head snapping to his bellowing and halting him before his finger could constrict the trigger. His arms went slack and he stood at ease.

* * *

Marcus began the descent down onto the ground floor, the silence of the assault a gift from God himself. Grey stalked over to Renn, giving him a forceful shove with his palm. "What in the absolute HELL, is wrong with you gear?!" He shouted, the sapphire of his helmet's eyes boring into Renn's green human eyes. "Fucking psycho." Grey muttered as he began to skulk off, over to the body of Truce, long since pummelled from the stampeding of Helghast and marred with more bullets even after long death from the widespread of the fire fight.

"Bullshit…" Grey's head perked up from the sound, turning his head slowly over to Renn, Marcus watching curiously.

"What?" Grey asked, voice raised with annoyance, the hearty gear Marcus first met long gone. Renn shook his head.

"This. THIS! This is bullshit, Isaac!" Renn said, now energized and pacing angrily back and forth. Grey shook his head, holding his hand out in a reason manner.

"This is war, Gary. Shit happens mate. Nobody can change that, unless this war ends right now! We've been at war for 17 years now and it se-"

"Nonononononono. You ain't listening!" Renn interrupted, distressed and scratching his ebony hair furiously. Grey sighed and cocked his head, unsure what the topic was now. He made a noise which showed confusion.

"Huh." Was all he could muster. Renn growled.

"I mean THIS!" He hissed through locked teeth, as he stamped his boot furiously on the unrecognisable torso he brutalised moments before, the partially exposed ribcage and loose flesh crunching and squelching beneath the steel boot. "We've survived 17 years against the fucking Locust, then outta nowhere, there's THESE assholes, who show up from outer space! Are you kidding me? It's one. Goddamn. War. After. The other. We're near extinction as it is, no this is the final nail in OUR friggin' coffin! Fuck this planet and fu-" Nobody, not even Marcus could notice nor anticipate the brief flash and the beam of light that passed through Renn, interrupting his rant. Everyone paused at the distant bark that came only a second after the flash, and like unrolling a tarpaulin down a house, blood began to run from Renn's neck like a scarlet curtain. Grey and Marcus traded glares, Grey stared at Renn, who had stiffened up, frozen in place as his neck bled.

"Re-Renn?" Grey whispered, voice trembling. Renn didn't acknowledge the call out, but instead dropped to his knees. As he did, another flash phased through his skull, another harrowing bark ringing in the gears' ears. This bolt of light split Renn's head in half, the top half of his head now blanched fragments of bloodied bone spread across the area near Renn's knees. All that remained of his head was a ravaged ruin that spurted blood, the tongue lolling from the disconnected lower jaw, as his body finally slammed to the ground like a tombstone. The grim revelation bolted Marcus into action.

"SNIPER!" He howled, dodging back as another shrill bark came from the distance, a bolt ricocheting on the wall where his head used to be a split second before he moved. The rest of the team immediately sought cover, getting out of the view from the rooftops.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know"

"Renn, fuck me, he got Renn." The babble of chatter between Grey and Stubbs distracted Marcus intensely as he tried to spot the roof-dwelling assassin. Marcus eyes narrowed as he saw a brief shimmer on one roof. Immediately tracking his eyes back to that one roof, his eyes widened in confusion, trying to make sense of what he saw, like the air itself was moving.

"What. The. Fuck?" His blurt catching the attention of Grey and Stubbs, who watched him intently.

"What you got Fenix? Please tell me it's something along the lines of 'a clear shot'?" Grey asked in genuine fear. Marcus shook his head, the tarmac-like voice still stoic, keeping his eyes tracing each rooftop.

"He's invisible." That one word put the ice right down Stubbs spine, his whining voice almost like nails on a chalkboard.

"Oh God. Please don't tell me I didn't just hear that." He began, his voice more like ramblings to himself whilst Grey and Marcus continued to chat quietly.

"So Marcus. You're saying he could be anywhere?" Marcus made a noise of acknowledgement.

"Any rooftop, but he'd knock the unsuspecting one off." His own words however struck a scare into him as Marcus and Grey turned to face Stubbs, who was still babbling. But that's not what caught their attention. They began to rise slowly, and walk away from Stubbs, ignoring his talking altogether, as he reloaded his shotgun, albeit still talking to himself.

"…am I right?" Stubbs looked up to see Grey and Marcus had backed away from him entirely, the helmeted gear furrowed his brows. "What? I'm not crazy." Grey shook his head in despair.

"No Miles. He's changed rooftops." The very words turning Stubbs' blood to ice.

"Whu-What?" He whispered hoarsely, the shotgun slipping from his grasp. Marcus sighed heavily at his terror.

"I'm sorry Stubbs." He said dryly with sympathy. Stubbs wept loudly, as he reached his hand out for help.

"N-NO! GOD PLEASE! ISAAC!" he began to wail, as Marcus and Grey saw the red dot centre on the back of his head. "Don't let me di-" A sharp howl emitted, and even with a helmet on, Miles Stubbs' head was obliterated. The reaching hand went limp and dropped like raw meat as his destroyed throat fountained blood, his body sliding down the wall, painting the wall with blood.

After what was 5 minutes of waiting, literally, Grey silently muttered,

"Mother fucker." Shaking his head. Marcus sighed and went to retrieve his Lancer, paying no mind to Grey's silent anger.

"Listen. I know it's hard, but at least one of you needs to come back." He turned and saw Isaac not budging, in fact he straightened up, but it seemed he chose to ignore Marcus. "Look. We've got to move right now. There's no place or time for revenge. That sniper is still out there. He could be right on top of us. He might be behind me, or behind you—"

"He knows that now." A callous and cruel voice droned to Marcus and a luring, sadistic tone. Marcus furrowed his brows, but soon his eyelids disappeared upon seeing the shimmer in the air behind Grey. Marcus snapped and went to seize his lancer, only for grey's head to jerk upwards, like he was having a seizure as he stared skywards. Marcus froze in his movements. "Make a move and I slit his meaty throat." The Helghast sniper growled, causing Marcus to slowly retreat. Grey's head began to lower. And he heard a contemplating noise in the back of the invisible sniper's throat. "I saw that whole bayonetting fiasco. Bloody brutal if you ask me." The sniper said dryly with amusement, voice directed into Grey's ear. "But now I must ask…" The sniper started, before Grey's body jerked violently forward, his trapped voice escaping in a cry as blood exploded through his chest plate, the air coated by blood, the shimmering in the shape of a blade. "…how do you like it? Ya human shit?!" The sniper roared, before ripping the invisible blade from Grey's chest, the gear rumpling to the floor, incapacitated, but not dead.

The sniper de-cloaked, the air moaning as it broke away around his body, revealing a slender-ish form, hidden behind ash grey, knee-long robes. His helmet was an odd shape, hidden underneath a thick hood, illuminated by a hatful scarlet glow from the 3 helmet eyes. On his back lay an old worn a sniper rifle, protruding from his robes. In his right hand, he gripped the bloodied knife in a reverse grip, his body firm with zero regret. His head slowly turned to Marcus after seconds of staring at the wounded Grey. Marcus roared and charged the Helghast, his own knife held high. Marcus had thrown caution into the wind: this fucker had killed 3 gears without even being seen, visible at least. It was just the rage, the urge to kill him, the anger for revenge. And The sniper wanted to exploit this anger.

He caught Marcus in the throat, his gloved grip surprisingly strong, before swinging a high kick into Marcus' right hip, winding him and causing him to drop his knife in pain. Clawing at the Helghan's hand, Marcus gurgled as he fought against the strangling grasp. The Helghast raised his hand, bringing his knife to bear. Fenix stared defiantly into the soulless helmet, his icy blue eyes meeting his blood red. In those eyes he saw zero remorse, zero mercy, and zero consideration. Swinging the knife down, Marcus heard the sheening of the blade entering the chest-bound sheath. Opening his eyes, he saw the sniper almost reluctant to kill him, standing firm and still staring him in the eyes. Maybe he was having second thou—

The thoughts were banished with a grunt, as the sniper smashed a punch into Marcus's nose with all his might whilst simultaneously releasing him, the punch rocketing Fenix off his feet and onto the carcass of Stubbs. He howled with shock and pain, his eyes gummed shut with the impact. Like a piston, his eyes opening to the snapping of a rifle cache, opening his bruised eyes to be staring up the barrel of the sniper's VC32 marksman rifle. Behind the helmet Marcus could hear heavy breathing, almost like he is trying to push himself over to kill him. After waiting what seemed like an eternity, the sniper dropped his aim. He looked in despair, and Marcus was confused.

"I have you right where I want you. But. It's too easy. IT'S TOO EASY! You're the perfect prey and yet, you're so helpless. You deserve a fighting chance." Marcus raised a brow, unsure of what the sniper was saying.

"What the fuck? You killed 3 gears like they were nothing. Now you're hesitating to kill one more?" He inquired. The Helghast laughed cruelly, before his voice dropped to a sinister low.

"But you aren't 'one gear' are you? Sergeant Marcus Michael Fenix? Decorated hero of the pendulum wars. Yeah, I know all about you. Shut your mouth. 'another gear' my ass." He retorted, Fenix's eyes going wide with horror. In the back ground, Grey moaned, still unconscious. The Helghast paid him no mind. The Helghast Nodded his head in acknowledgement, before his head snapped up and fired the rifle. Fenix shut his eyes in fright. But only to feel the heavy weight of a corpse drop on him. Marcus growled at the sight of a Locust Drone, the chalk-white face steaming from a bloodied thumb-sized hole dead in the centre of the forehead. But the sniper saved his life? The Helghast saved his life?! Marcus silently swore as he heard and felt the distinctive rumble of an e-hole appearing outside the shop, angry howls of Locust filling the air. Marcus felt a dull pain in his wrist to find the sniper had oddly kicked his lancer over to him.

Seizing this chance, Marcus grabbed his rifle and rose to a steady stance, pressing his back to the Helghast sniper's back, the roars of Locust drawing nearer. Marcus sighted the doors and wall opening whilst the sniper traced the stairs and rooftops. He gave a humorous grunt.

"It's Armand. Armand Orion." The sniper muttered, nodding his head to Fenix. Marcus stared him dead through the corner of those baby blues, growling slightly.

"This doesn't change. Jack. Shit, Helghast." He muttered, deathly low in tone and threat. Armand merely laughed, as he heard the scrawling on the walls in front of him, firing his rifle with a cacophonous bang. As Marcus aimed at the wall, when the first Drones poured in, he sighed heavily. '_Marcus. What the fuck are you doing?_'

* * *

**OK cliffhanger, I guess? I'll see what I can do for Chap.3. Rate, review and subscribe (Or whatever)**

**Chapter 3 - Attack of The Drones coming soon**


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